Red Tears, or Of Sisters and Wars
by SwanQueenOf221B-RepublicCity
Summary: Just a parent!lock fanfic with plenty more to come! Rated T for later gore, suggested drugs, death
1. Prologue

**Welp… Just a blabble with more to come! **

Intro:

The first time he saw her she was at Angelo's. The second time was at the Yard. The third time was at a crime scene. The last time she had hands smeared in her own blood.

Hamish Watson-Holmes was no ordinary boy. He had been attending crime scenes since he was two months old. The main thing, however, that set him apart from other boys was his intelligence. He had been able to speak with correct grammar and in full sentences since age four, and he had been reading since two. He learned about detective work from his father, but what he really loved was going to work with his papa and observing. He wanted to become the world's best doctor. The only problem was he hated learning from anybody but his parents.

Then one day, Hamish had a new idea. He wanted a sister. Not just any sister, either. He wanted one that wasn't squeamish like all the girls at the school he rarely attended. He wanted a sister who could run around and solve crimes with the rest of the Watson-Holmes'. He never thought he would get his wish. He never believed he would have the wonderful sister of his dreams. But what he least expected was how much pain he a sister could bring, and he never knew what is parents would do to protect the ones they loved.

Before he knew it, everything changed.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: these will be short, but they will come often :) **

Watching them, I can see the little one wobbling around while chattering away in baby talk. His fathers, one tall and dark, the other shorter, stouter, more like grounded, watch, smile, laugh, encourage. I want a family like that. I want someone to look at me with such love. But no one has so much as spoken to me for a year now. I am just another little girl, age six, wandering the streets. But they do not know me. They do not know who I really am, what I can do.

Almost nine years later I still have not spoken to them. But I know them. I know them very well. Hamish, the little boy, likes going to work with his daddy. That's what he calls the shorter one. Hamish looks like his father, though.

A cold layer of snow covers all of London. It adds peace to the otherwise lively, loud city. I like it.

I do not bother with a cab; I walk all the way to Baker Street from my most recent residence in Regents Park.

Today is Christmas. Today is the day I finally try to see what it's like to be in a family.

I brush my hair, and wrap my jacket around me. A new tear catches my attention. I almost groan in annoyance. But I do not. Instead I do my best to cover it up. Once I look a little more presentable, I step up to the door. A small Christmas wreath is hanging there, most certainly courtesy of the blond man. I have never used their names. I only ever think of them by their appearance. Of course I call Hamish by his name. He is younger than me, so I feel no obligation to be polite.

I lift my hand to knock, then pause. What if they turn me away? Or what if I can't bring myself to speak? I have to somehow impress them. I need to. So, before I can run away again, I rap the door of 221b on Baker Street.

I listen. I can hear a pair of slipper-clad feet scrambling down the stairs, followed by two larger pairs. The door opens.

There, standing in front of me is the boy called Hamish. Dark hair, big blue eyes, skinny and tall for his age. Hamish Watson-Holmes. Next to him are his parents, John and Sherlock. Doctor and detective.


	3. Chapter 2

"Daddy! Look what Father gave me!"

Little Hamish Watson-Holmes ran around and around the kitchen, trying to get John's attention. John, who was trying to make tea, laughed at the little whirlwind.

"Just a moment, don't you want some tea?"

"No! I want hot cocoa!" Hamish jumped up and down next to John, shoving a microscope in his face. "Can I pleeeeaaase have some cocoa, Daddy?"

John smiled and poured some of the sweet, hot liquid into a red mug and handed it to the bouncing boy. "Now go and wake up your father; we can't let him sleep away Christmas!"

Hamish ran to his parent's bedroom, and pounced on the mound of sheets and a thick duvet. "Father father father father! Wake up! You have to come and open presents! I love the microscope, I'm gonna inspect Ginger's paw with it!" (Ginger was a cat Hamish had rescued and John had somehow persuaded Sherlock to let Hamish keep her.)

"Go away, Hay, I'm sleeping. Go bother John." Sherlock huffed and curled up in the mass that he has created around himself.

However, the detective's son had a different idea. Using all his strength, he pulled on a corner of sheet, unwrapping Sherlock until he was sprawled on the floor in a heap. Sherlock sighed, then jumped up and stared at Hamish like a predator. The boy laughed and ran downstairs to fall onto the sofa in fits of giggles.

"Daaaaaddy! I want a sister!"

John nearly tripped over his own feet. "So-sorry?"

"I want a sister! A big sister! A sister who will play tag with me!"

John just stood there, a little shocked. "A… a sister…"

A knock was heard. "I'll get it!" said Hamish, running eagerly to the door.

Sherlock, appearing from nowhere, wrapped an arm around John and gently guided him to the door as well.

Hamish threw it open to reveal a girl, nearly fifteen by the look of it, with blond hair that went a little past her shoulders. Her eyes darted up and down the family, but she didn't say anything. She just stood there, an uncertain smile on her face.

"Are you my sister?" asked Hamish.

The girl stared at him, a little dumbstruck.

Then she smiled, bent down and hugged the boy. She didn't say a thing, just hugged him and smiled. Hamish smiled too, looking up at his parents with hope.

"Can she be my sister?"


End file.
